“What about suicide?” the magistrate pressed.
Mr. Altman scratched his head. “I don’t see as how someone would go backward and land on their back if’n it were suicide.Don’t make no sense, physical-like, and not make a bit o’ sense to us who knowed her.”
The magistrate chuffed.
The coroner thanked the jury for their service, and the inquest was adjourned.
As she andJames followed the crowd of people who had attended the inquest back up the stairs and into daylight, Cecilia felt satisfied with the verdict. Particularly satisfied that the magistrate did not get his suicide verdict!
But there was still the matter of who had been on the meadow with Mrs. Jones and what had been their intent? Why were they with Mrs. Jones?
“Sir James! Lady Branstoke!” hailed the Earl of Mortlake. He waved his son to proceed on without him while he waited for them.
“I want to thank you for your testimony on behalf of Mrs. Jones—and you, Sir James, for your care of her.” His face drew together in a scowl. “I am quite put out with the bumptious behavior of our magistrate. I sense his position has damaged him. Pity. I used to like the fellow. We were at university together for a short time.”
Cecilia couldn’t help but smile at his last statement.
“It was the least I could do for the woman,” James said. “She was more than the vicar’s wife. She was an asset to our village.”
“I concur –I’d like you and Lady Branstoke to join my wife and me for dinner tonight. I know it is a last-minute invitation; however, I have a request for both of you that you are eminently suited to fulfill.”
Cecilia and Sir James exchanged glances. Cecilia raised an eyebrow at her husband to indicate that it was his decision.
Sir James looked back at the earl. “We shall be delighted to join you this evening.”
After exchanging details, the Branstokes parted from Mortlake and returned to Summerworth Park.
CHAPTER 6
THE EARL’S CONFESSION
“James, why has Mortlake invited us to dinner tonight?” Cecilia asked when he’d wandered into her dressing room, attired for the evening.
“I don’t know,” James said as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt under his jacket. “But it falls in line with our needs, so I am more than happy to have dinner with them.”
“Yes, I know,” said Cecilia. Seated at her dressing table, she looked into her mirror at her lady’s maid. “Sarah, stop fussing. It looks suitable for dinner at a neighbor’s. We are not going to a ball!” she admonished Sarah with a gentle smile.
Sarah ruefully backed away. Cecilia rose and turned toward James. “I would like to understand his motivations. Does he want something from us? I don’t expect this to be a casual dinner event.”
James looked at Cecilia. “No, you’re probably correct. However, it doesn’t do us any good to ponder the whys and the wherefores at this time. If you are ready, we should make our way downstairs. I ordered the coach to go to the Mortlake estate.”
“Not your phaeton?” Cecilia asked.
“No,” James said with a slight smile.
Cecilia looked at him and smiled back, knowing they would have George Romley as their coachman. Romley would question the grooms about Mrs. Jones’s horse, among other things.
She and James were often of a like mind on their inquiries without a word spoken between them. “Yes, of course,” she said instead. “Let me grab my shawl.” She picked up her beautiful Indian silk shawl, which her lady’s maid had laid out for her. It had been a gift from Rani, sent from India. She followed James out of her dressing room.
He took her arm in his as they walked down the stairs and out of the door to their coach.
The tripto the Mortlake estate was quick. They did not live far from them, though the Mortlake estate properties extended quite a way in the other direction. They were almost their closest neighbor, aside from the Aldriches.
When they arrived at the estate, the Mortlake butler was awaiting them and quickly escorted them inside. Mortlake came out of the drawing room to the right. The earl was a tall man, nearly as tall as Sir James, and walked with an extremely upright posture. Eschewing the somber gray he’d worn at the inquest, he’d donned a bottle-green jacket over a muted green and brown striped waistcoat. He wore his curly, liberally gray-streaked brown hair brushed back away from his prominent forehead and cut to his collar in the back.
“Welcome, welcome. I’m glad you could come. Come on in here. Dinner will be served shortly, but can I get you a preprandial?”
They agreed to a drink and followed the earl into a beautifully accoutered pale-green drawing room done in the Georgian stylewith white panel moldings and tasteful peach-colored accents. Lady Mortlake sat on a peach sofa, acknowledging their entry with a smile, a softly spokenhello, and a gracious incline of her head. Though a blonde fading to gray, she was still a striking woman with few lines on her face. Her bronze gown of the latest fashion shimmered in the candlelight.
